


the hokage, the hokage's wife.

by vegetas



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5871886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegetas/pseuds/vegetas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>somewhere between scenes during boruto; naruto and hinata and a soft breeze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the hokage, the hokage's wife.

“Ne, Himawari-chan, why don’t you go take your bath?”

Himawari looked up at her mother and then back to where her father was standing a few feet away. He had opened the door to the porch and had walked just outside of the house, his body leaning on the heavy beam that held up the roof. He stared out across the yard, expression blank from what Himawari could tell.

“Himawari…” her mother said again, this time pushing her slightly. Himawari backed out of the doorway she had just come through and turned to scamper up the stairs, stopping only for a moment to peek through the railing at her mother’s back.

Hinata stood staring at her husband, hands clasped in front of her. She waited patiently till she could hear her daughter’s footsteps in the bathroom overhead – the soft hiss of the pipes when she turned on the hot water.

The house was cast in the half shadow of dusk; it was rare these days to see Naruto at home so early, washed over in the dull gold light that would give way to dusky purple. With the garden door open she could hear cicadas whirring in the persimmon tree, and the grass had grown tall in the yard. Frogs and the crickets chirruped among her pots and plots of herbs and spices – the koi pond was green with algae and the fish swam in lazy circles.

For a moment she considered letting him be. He deserved a bit of peace, to stare out at his own garden for a while. Maybe he would comment on how the tomatoes were coming along or bring her an inch worm on his finger. It wasn’t so terribly long ago when he would he come to her with toads cupped in his hands or small lizards, or the like. One year, a swallow that had fallen from the nest, another, a rabbit they kept in a cardboard box and brought to Shizune to rear. 

He’d come in the house with a kind of reserved excitement and have her bend over his hand, or his shirt, held out like he was carrying apples in it…

They had been entirely too young, and entirely too in love.

The breeze brought the heat into the house and the fragrance of green and grass. 

“Ne, Hinata,” he said, and she tilted her head, arriving again in the present. He didn’t turn to look at her; he didn’t have to. He could sense her posture from here: elegant, soft. Her hands like two white doves against her apron. He lifted his hand and pet at the back of his hair, a boyish habit that meant he was nervous about something, like his tendency to blink when he was upset.

He pet and pet and she waited patiently till he spoke again, his voice rasping as if he had been shouting all day.

“I’m sorry I am a lousy husband.”

Something in her chest tightened, but she couldn’t find any words. She could only look down to his feet, at the floor. It wasn’t true, he wasn’t a bad husband. He was too noble, and too good intentioned. But, still. It was a sweet suffering that she faced each time she hung up the phone when he would be late for dinner again, or saw the frustration writhing around in her son’s body.

Her own body wanted to sag with relief when he acknowledged it, but her back remained straight, ever poised.  

“I know I neglect you,” he went on, sighing. He let his hand fall back to his side and her eyes slowly followed the line of him. He shifted his weight, foot crossed over the other, leaning against the beam and looking out at the yard.

She felt the corner of her mouth twitch – how despicable to hold himself in such a charming manner. So at ease in his own body, even when he talked about such unhappy things. It was comforting just to look at him. It almost made her laugh. How unnecessary all of the talk was when, even slighted, she loved him in this uncontrollable way. It consumed her like nothing else. She felt the delicious curl somewhere inside her, shameful and secret. His large hands and feet, long legs. Firm back and broad shoulders. There were times she thought _‘what a wicked boy he could have been…_ ’ but he wasn’t.

He was anything but.

Her heart ached with it.

She met his eyes, him turned over one shoulder to gaze at her, his look drifting to her mouth and down and up again. She went to him without being asked.

She placed her hands on his sides and felt his hands against her neck and her chin, the sides of her face, stroking her hair behind her ears.

“Do you hate me? Do you want to leave me?”

He hushed it, for only her to hear. She shook her head silently from side to side.

“They all say you should,” he said. “That you should leave me…it’s too hard to be a Hokage’s wife…”

 _No, never,_ she thought, almost desperately. _Even when you walk so far ahead of me_.

After many years he still was unaware of how powerful his hold on her was. How unthinkably foolish a girl she could be for him. She wasn’t a fool. She knew how much she put up with. Sakura had said it, casually. What was worse? To have his back to you, or to have out of sight?

It was painful, this lovesickness she had.

“Do you love me?” he continued, always wanting. “Even though I’m terrible – and I can’t keep my promises…That our son hates me…” It was almost a whine. 

“He doesn’t hate you,” she whispered. “He wants to know you better. He wants to be like you – even if he doesn’t understand that yet.” 

Naruto made an uncommitted sound and bent to press his cheek to the top of her head, surrounding her with his arms. Her hands curved up around his back and she nestled into his chest, embracing the scent of him.

“Do you have to go back?” she sighed, and his arms tightened around her.

“Are you lonely, Hina-chan?” he asked and she burrowed against his neck. “Do your feet get cold?”

His finger danced down the middle of her spine.

She nodded and he kissed her hair. His playfulness was a good sign he would at least stay most of the night. Slowly, he began to lean against her. His weight was steady – not too much that she couldn’t take but enough to share.

She stroked his back, his head resting on her shoulder. Such a firm, strong back. He felt tired, but not too tired, she thought. She flushed.

“There’s time to rest before dinner…” she said, thoughtfully, and he only turned his face more against her neck, wide hands slipping to her waist to hold her there. He kissed her cheek chastely and she followed his mouth to meet it with her own.

Their noses bumped as he nuzzled her face, foreheads tilted together.

“Forgive me,” he whispered and she smiled. She wanted to say  _'so pitiful_ ', because he was, and it was so tender and sweet. 

“I forgive you,” she murmured, stroking the back of his neck. He breathed a long slow breath. “What would you like for dinner, Naruto-kun?”

He considered with deliberate pause. The Hokage, she thought, pressed against her this way. If her son could see him this way, so quiet and very dear. Maybe he would understand her leniency, her willingness to forgive.

“Eh…” he said. “Fish?”

“Hai,” she said, smiling. The last of the sun was very warm and the fireflies were beginning to float lazily up from the grass. She closed her eyes and let her face tuck down towards his.

 “Of course, dear.”


End file.
